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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032006">The Muse of Meat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear'>AParticularlyLargeBear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Parahumans Series - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, F/F, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:28:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParticularlyLargeBear/pseuds/AParticularlyLargeBear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Paige's cellmate told her to fuck off, and once Paige nonetheless refused.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paige Mcabee | Canary/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cellmates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this emerged from my pinch-hit for the Cauldron February event. The prompt was 'Canary finds love, or something like it, in the Birdcage.', and I got an idea... it's just the idea arrived very late on in the deadline and I had another thing to race to finish. I swiftly realised that the initial concept I had could not be done justice in the six or so hours I had left, and a truncated version was given to Dusky. Still, I was invested in the idea and well, here it is. I don't foresee this being super long, perhaps six or seven chapters total, but we'll see how we go.</p><p>TW: Body horror, descriptions of violence</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fresh out of what would have a week or two ago been the most terrifying experience of her life but now barely made the top five, Paige moved through the corridors of Block E, turning the conversation over in her head. Lustrum, the self-appointed leader of the block, was undoubtedly a dangerous person, even in the context of the dozens, hundreds of other dangerous people Paige now shared a home with. She’d been all charm as she’d explained the rules she set, as she reassured Paige that she couldn’t let her come to any harm. She’d snarled with sympathetic rage when Paige mentioned her ex and how he’d landed her in this mess.</p><p>But Paige hadn’t missed the murderous gleam in her eyes as she condemned every last man in the same breath as Paige’s dumbass ex. She hadn’t missed the heavies in the room, nor the veiled threats in Lustrum’s explanation. Follow the rules. Her rules. Dissent and see what happens.</p><p>Mercifully, a reported scuffle elsewhere had drawn Lustrum’s attention away and Paige had been dismissed. Just before she left, Lustrum told her to mind her manners around her cellmate and there wouldn’t be any trouble. A wonderful note to end the meeting on; the last thing Paige wanted was a repeat performance of her desperate attempts to stay on Lung and Bakuda’s good sides back in the prison transport. The stress alone would kill her as surely as offending a volatile psycho would.</p><p>Her new room was supposedly tucked all the way in the back of the cell block, so she had a fair walk to go from Lustrum’s ‘office’. She did her best to follow the directions the heavies had given her, and that brought her to a long corridor which right-angled at the very end. That was the spot. Paige turned the corner and then yelped, flinching back. The door to her cell was <em>pulsing</em>, layered over with a greybrown substance that clung to it like a spiderweb. A huge eye the size of Paige’s head stared at her, unblinking.</p><p>Paige made an incoherent noise that could have been a moan, scooting around the corner and putting her back to the wall. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Jesus christ. As if this wasn’t bad enough already.</p><p>“<em>Are you going to hide out there all day?</em>” The voice was deep, sibilant, and sounded uncomfortably close. “<em>Chill out. I just like seeing what’s coming</em>.” As her initial fear and revulsion subsided, Paige realised that what little inflection the voice carried was pretty ordinary. A little exasperated, a little amused. She slowly peeked around the corner. The eye looked back at her.</p><p>Well, it was just an eye, right? An eye couldn’t hurt her. Probably. Even if it was the eye of a Birdcaged parahuman.</p><p>This reassuring herself thing wasn’t working out at all.</p><p>She started to venture up towards the door. Thankfully, the—she hated that the first word her mind jumped to was <em>flesh</em>—substance coating it wasn’t touching the handle. The closer she grew, the slower the pulsing seemed to get. The eye twitched, refocusing on her. There was no lid, the pupil barely darker than the iris. The sclera surrounding it was a sickly colour, yellowed and off-white, tiny black lines running through. Paige drew to a halt within reach of the door, trying to calm herself by slowing her breathing. She failed. Okay. This was fine. This would be fine. She was fine. One more breath, then she slowly began to extend her arm towards the door handle. Like a hawk, she watched the pulsating flesh as she inched closer, expecting at any moment for tendrils to snatch her wrist.</p><p>Her hand grasped the door and she hurriedly yanked it open, immediately stumbling back out of the way. The room within was well lit and more sizeable than she’d expected, with a single-sized bed on either side and what looked like a desk set against the far wall. She couldn’t get the best view because someone was standing in the way.</p><p>The woman was skinny and tall, wearing an orange jumpsuit that would have matched Paige’s own if both sleeves hadn’t been ripped off, displaying gangly arms with spidery black tattoos. Her skin was the same colour as what Paige now <em>had </em>to term as the flesh outside, and yet her eyes were a startlingly bright blue, just visible beneath the fringe of her messy black mop.</p><p>She folded her arms and glared. “Quit staring and get your ass in here. You’re letting the heat out.”</p><p>Paige reluctantly stepped inside, double checking the rear side of the door to ensure that it didn’t share the passenger of the front. The good news: it didn’t. The bad news: when Paige turned back to her room, she realised there was another mound of eye-sporting flesh clinging to the back wall, up by the ceiling.</p><p>“Yo. I’m Clarke.” Her roommate stuck out a hand. Paige weighed up the risk of pissing her off with the chances of being maimed and decided to trust Lustrum’s advice. She took the hand. The grip was firm.</p><p>“P—Canary.”</p><p>“Huh, for real?” Clarke let go a beat before it would have been uncomfortable. Motion caught Paige’s eye on Clarke’s shoulder, but before she could focus, it was gone.</p><p>She tried to concentrate on the conversation, tipping her head to the side. “You know who I am?”</p><p>Clarke shrugged. “We get music now and then. I’ve heard you.” She gestured behind Paige to one of the beds. “That one’s yours. Should be clean. Dunno if they got all the blood out.”</p><p>Having very nearly felt flattered at the mention of her music, Paige was brought crashing back down to earth. “The… blood?” she ventured.</p><p>Clarke responded with a short laugh, and just when Paige thought she couldn’t be more on edge, she found herself yet further down that knife blade. “My last roomie and me, we had ourselves a little disagreement,” said Clarke, grinning lopsidedly. “Didn’t end well for her.”</p><p>“Oh.” Paige didn’t know what else to say to that. <em>Was </em>there anything to say to that? This cell block was supposedly best for her safety. More fool her, believing in a jailer.</p><p>The smile slid off. “Don’t worry, she was an asshole and she started it. Cut my goddamn throat.” She touched her neck, grimacing. “So long as you stick to a basic level of not a fuckhead and don’t try to murder my ass, we’ll be good.”</p><p>“Okay,” said Paige faintly. She didn’t think that Clarke meant a figurative throat cut. This was her life from now on. The Birdcage took her worst expectations and managed to surpass them on every level.</p><p>“Anywho, make yourself at home.” Clarke separated from her and strolled to her side of the room, flopping onto her bed with a contented sigh. She laced her hands behind her head, and again something moved, a sinuous, twisting motion. What <em>was </em>that?</p><p>Paige walked to her own bed and gingerly sat down. Somebody quite possibly died here. Clarke hadn’t been clear and Paige really, really didn’t want to ask. She set her attention on the decor and kidded herself that she’d cleared her mind of worrying about her cell’s former occupant.</p><p>While barren by the standards of her old apartment, there were more accessories and accoutrements than Paige would have guessed. A mug filled with pencils perched on a corner of the desk, along with a pad of paper. Another jumpsuit hung from a hook on the wall, orange, but with a black splatter pattern down the back and across the shoulders. A hoodie which may or may not have started life as one or more towels was in a heap on the floor. A plank of wood extended between the foot of Clarke’s bed and the wall, serving as a shelf of sorts, upon which precisely three books were laid. She had a couple of posters on the wall, one of which had a strange, gnarled design, maybe the bark of a tree, there was a knothole kind of—</p><p>Paige failed to hold back her cry of alarm as the realisation hit home. Not a poster. Yet another cluster of flesh. How many of them were there? Her eyes flitted to and fro, hunting more lumps and mounds in the shadows. They could be anywhere. Everywhere.</p><p>“You’re gonna have to get used to my lil’ nodes if we’re gonna be cellmates, Canary.” Clarke had rolled over onto her side. Paige felt more than one set of eyes on her. “My brain gets itchy if I go too long without making one. Gets worse if I slurp ‘em back up too fast.”</p><p>Slurp had never been a horrifying word before. Paige stared across at Clarke, nausea rising in her gorge. For a third time, something twisted and writhed on Clarke’s arm. The tattoos. The tattoos were moving. Clarke tilted her head to the side, followed Paige’s eyeline, traced it, glancing down to her own bicep. Grinned.</p><p>Then a gaping black maw yawned open from the flesh. Paige shrieked, slamming back into the wall. The mouth leered at her, splitting Clarke’s arm open vertically. Dark fluid glistened within the opening, viscous and dripping. Paige couldn’t tear her eyes away, scrabbling at the cold metal behind her as if that could claw another couple of inches of distance. Then, as she gulped for air, stricken, the woundlike gash began to <em>move</em>, slithering down Clarke’s arm, coiling around her elbow, unhinging fore from upper like a peeled vegetable and <em>still somehow all mouth</em>.</p><p>Clarke hadn’t moved other than to sit up, but that was no comfort. That just told Paige that she was within sight and reach anywhere in the room, that there was nowhere to run, that she was trapped all over again. The rule of her life of late; it could always get worse.</p><p>And get worse it did. Atop Clarke’s other arm, her bare shoulder bisected down the middle into another mouth, a trickle of black liquid escaping from the corner of the fresh rent. Below, the web of lines continued to twist and squirm and then, one after the other, split open, revealing dark and gleaming eyes, their stare pinioning Paige against the wall. Clarke’s—real? Primary? <em>Facial</em>—eyes fixed on her, head mouth curving up into a lopsided smile.   </p><p>“Don’t eat me,” Paige whispered.</p><p>Not one of those glimmering black pits blinked.</p><p>Clarke started laughing. Hard. “Y-yuh-you shuh-should see your face!” she howled, collapsing back onto her bed. She hugged her arms to her stomach, legs kicking in the air. “Oh my god, girl, that is puh-pricelu-he-he-hess!”</p><p>Paige slid back down from the clinging-to-the-wall position she’d found herself in. She looked at Clarke, an uncomfortable prickling sensation in her gut, cheeks flush with humiliation. Yeah. How absolutely hilarious. What a damn sadist. Paige’s breathing was slowly subsiding, indignant anger flowing into her in place of her fear. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a joke, not after what she’d been through. She wasn’t a plaything.</p><p>“Hey, don’t get pissy. I was just playing,” said Clarke. Paige jumped. She was doubled over and facing the wrong—right, eyes everywhere. Damn it. That was going to take some getting used to.</p><p>“It’s not funny,” said Paige, hating how much she sounded like the teenaged, bullied version of herself.</p><p>“Grow up.” Clarke sat up again. The amusement had faded from her face. Her renewed stare was flat, emotionless.</p><p>On another day, Paige may have hesitated at that lack of expression, but the stoked flames of her frustration were beginning to roar. No, she was through getting pushed around. Back down, and she was telling her cellmate that she could mess with her all she wanted without repercussion, and then that would be it; Paige treated like shit forever more.</p><p>“No!” she snapped. “You grow up! All I have to do is sing and you’ll do whatever I want, so knock it off or—”</p><p>“Do it.”</p><p>Paige faltered. “What?”</p><p>Clarke leered at her. “Sing. Master me. Go on. Do it. See what happens.” Her eyes glinted dangerously. Her smile was a rictus, each corner twitching. “Dare ya.”</p><p>Throat constricting with a fresh wave of uncertainty, Paige started singing. The notes trembled at first, but as her power took hold, they strengthened. Clarke blinked slowly, her smile softening, her posture growing more relaxed. The weight lifted from Paige’s chest, she sang louder, pouring her anger into it, rising up from the bed, taking a step forward. <em>Back off</em>, said her song, <em>leave me alone</em>, <em>touch me and you’ll be sorry</em>. Clarke leaned back, propping herself on her elbows, head relaxing onto her shoulder.</p><p>Another step. This was a line in the sand; respect her boundaries, or she’d <em>make</em> her—</p><p>A weight crashed onto Paige’s shoulders from above, slamming her to the ground. The weight pinned her, warm, cloying, like a heavy blanket—a roll of squelching flesh unfurled in front of her eyes and anchored itself to the floor. Paige screamed.</p><p>“<em>Nice song,</em>” a voice hissed into Paige’s ear. “<em>I actually felt that. Too bad all of me isn’t here, huh?</em>”</p><p>Paige struggled, thrashing wildly to no avail. More of Clarke’s node sealed itself to the ground, glueing her waist, one of her arms, fixing her neck. She screamed again. Oh god, oh god oh god it was all over her oh <em>god</em>.</p><p>Clarke’s main body blinked, shook its head, blinked again, as if emerging from a deep sleep. As the effects of the trance slipped away, a sly grin reasserted itself, and she nonchalantly stood, walking across to Paige. She squatted down, gripping her by the chin and forcing her head back and up until they were eye-to-eye.</p><p>“You don’t toughen up, there’s folks out there that’ll eat you alive and already have forgotten about it tomorrow. People will fuck with you, and if you try your little songs, you best hope it’s with someone it works on, ‘cause you’re not getting time for a second verse.” Clarke rolled her wrist, a succession of tiny mouths stippling their way up the back of her arm. “This is my cell. I come with the package. You deal with my weirdness and my nodes, or you can fuck off. Got it?”</p><p>Paige swallowed, managing the tiniest of nods.</p><p>Clarke ruffled Paige’s hair. “‘Atta girl.”</p><p>The mound around her suddenly lost all consistency and tensile strength, melting away like so much bath foam. Clarke reached out her hand and—christ it really did sound like slurping—thrust it into the bubbling flesh. The second Paige could move again, she scrambled to her feet and all but leapt back to the scant sanctuary of her bed, shivering and clinging to her pillow.</p><p>Fuck her life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dreamers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bands of iron encircled Paige’s torso, locking her in place. Thick leather constricted her neck, choking, stifling, preventing her from breathing. She tried to cry out, but found that her jaw was fused shut, a muzzle bound to her face, spikes digging into her nose, her cheeks her lips. Her arms were held above her head, strained to their limits, cuffed and bonded. Frantically, she tugged to and fro, but there was not an inch of give, rattling metal her only reward for the attempt.</p><p>She tried to breathe, her ribs jarring against the metal. Panicked whimpers escaped her mouth, all she could muster. The collar pricked at her throat, then tore, blood pooling around her neck.</p><p>A drooling mouth loomed over her, its black tongue peering at her cage.</p><p>“<em>Remember</em>,” it crooned. <em> “No noise.</em>”</p><p>Paige jerked awake, snatching off a scream. She looked around wildly, touching her face, her jaw. Bare. No straps, no muzzle, no chains. Her legs were snarled up in her bedding, and Paige took a minute to extricate them, feeling just a fraction better for it as her pounding heart slowly subsided. She hated everything about this, but there were degrees of suffering. Paige never wanted to be bound like she’d been at the trial again. Right now, she was ‘free’, if she could call it that, ‘safe’, for some value of the word. Her rapid breaths slowed bit by bit as she sat in the darkness, and then caught. </p><p>Something glittered in the gloom.</p><p>Paige’s throat closed up as she realised it was eyes. Eyes on the ceiling. On the walls. On the floor. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to have privacy ever again.</p><p>“You done?” Clarke’s voice drifted over from the opposite side of the room. Paige strained to see the shape of her in the dark, growing a little easier as she acclimatised better. She sat cross-legged, arms folded. “You know you use your power in your sleep? Little bursts of it. Fucking annoying. Gives me a headache.”</p><p>She did not know that. Nobody had ever mentioned anything of the sort before. Was it the nightmare? “Uh… sorry.” Her stomach was sinking without a trace. The earlier events played back through her head, skin crawling at the phantom sensation of Clarke’s node blanketing her, the firm grip upon her chin. She couldn’t afford to piss Clarke off, not twice in one day. And if these nightmares became a regular thing—fuck. She had to try and make this right. “Just wake me up if I start doing it again. I don’t want to keep you awake.” </p><p>“It’s whatever.” Clarke waved a hand dismissively. “You looked like you needed it.”</p><p>The tension fizzled from Paige like a deflated balloon. “Oh. Um. Thank you?”</p><p>Clarke shrugged. “I’m not gonna ride your ass for having nightmares. Shit’s not in your control.” </p><p>Was this Clarke’s nighttime split personality or something? This was downright—okay civil definitely wasn’t the correct word, but she wasn’t being a dick.  </p><p>Unfortunately, Paige’s bemusement must have shown on her face. Clarke scowled. “Quit looking at me like that.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“Go back to sleep.”</p><p>Paige hesitated. “I… don’t really want to.” She instinctively found herself bracing, and hated it. She was already turning into a whipped dog, cowering at the first hint of another’s anger.</p><p>Clarke didn’t initially react, leaning back on her elbows. Several long seconds ticked by. Paige felt dizzy, filled with vertigo, as if she’d stepped up to the edge of an invisible line which turned out to belong to a cliff, and now stood swaying on the precipice.</p><p>“Nightmare’s that bad, huh?” The shadows cast strange shapes across Clarke’s face, making her expression impossible to read. “What set you off? The cuffs? The courtroom?” Teeth glinted. “The company?”</p><p>All three. Paige didn’t respond, pulling her knees in close to her chest and hugging the blanket to herself.</p><p>“Okay, tough crowd.” Clarke grinned, the corners of her mouth splitting wider and wider.   </p><p>Frustration momentarily outpaced caution. “Can you please stop?” Clarke shut her mouth with an unpleasant <em> schlorp.</em> “Thank you.”  </p><p>“<em>No problem</em>.” The voice emerged from directly above Paige. She shrieked. Clarke cackled. “Couldn’t resist, sorry.”</p><p>“Are you?” Paige couldn’t see anything in the shadows of the ceiling, and started scooting herself away off to the foot of her bed. She was not letting Clarke drop in on her head again. She was not letting that stuff touch her.</p><p>Clarke shrugged. “‘Lil bit.”</p><p>“You have a weird way of showing it.” So much for this being the nice Clarke. Paige resisted the urge to blast her with both verbal barrels; she wasn’t big on starting fights she couldn’t win, and she didn’t even know all of what Clarke could do. Being real, scrawny as Clarke was, she’d probably hand Paige’s ass to her in about ten seconds. Maybe if she shut the main body off with her power and then—this was a bad idea. </p><p>“Never was much of a people person.”</p><p>Paige elected to remain silent. Pointing out that tormenting your new cellmate with extra body parts and weird biology was less antisocial and more horror movie villain probably wouldn’t go down well.</p><p>“All right. How about this…” Clarke popped upright like she’d bounced from a trampoline. A dull <em>click </em>preceded dim light illuminating Clarke’s side of the room. She was a good five feet away from the lamp.  “I’m awake, you’re awake. You don’t wanna sleep, I don’t really got to right now. Let’s break the ice.”</p><p>Paige shot a nervous glance up at the ceiling. Were those shapes in the eaves simply shadows? “I don’t really have any interesting stories.”</p><p>“Rockstar like you? Sure you do.”</p><p>Much to her own surprise, something that was very nearly a laugh emerged from Paige’s mouth. “I wouldn’t call myself a rockstar.”</p><p>“You sang rock. People paid to listen. Counts.”</p><p>Sang. Paid. Past tense. The makings of the smile on Paige’s face faded into nothingness.</p><p>Not seeming to notice, Clarke continued. “Anywho, you’d be surprised how low the bar for interesting gets once you’ve been in here for a few. Wanna trade questions?”</p><p>“You first.”</p><p>Clarke quirked an eyebrow.</p><p>Paige sat up a little straighter. “I’ll answer if you let me ask you something first.”</p><p>Clarke smiled. “Already getting to grips with how things work, huh? Okay. Shoot.”</p><p>“Do <em> you </em> get nightmares?”</p><p>There was a pause. The shutters dropped. “I don’t sleep much. Not like other people.”</p><p>“That doesn’t answer the question.”</p><p>Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Ask something else.”</p><p>Refusal at literally the first hurdle was kind of irritating but… best not to push her luck. “How many nodes do you have?”</p><p>“Right now? Ten.”</p><p>Paige swallowed, eyes darting to and fro. Every time she searched for the mounds of flesh they seemed to be in a slightly different position. She met the dark and glistening gaze of one on the ceiling. That was the one that had been straight over her head, right? “How many are in here?”</p><p>“More than you see.” Paige shrank back and Clarke chuckled. “Less than you’re thinking just now.” She waggled a finger at Paige with a ‘gotcha’ expression on her face. “That was two questions, I get two.”</p><p>Paige frowned. Just like that, she’d stolen back the initiative. “...Fine.”</p><p>“Biggest celebrity crush?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Your biggest celebrity crush! Don’t tell me you never had one.”</p><p>“I… uh…” Paige was flummoxed. That was the kind of thing hardened criminals asked each other about? Had she stumbled into a teenage sleepover when she wasn’t looking? “Why do you even want to know?”</p><p>“We’re getting to know each other, aren’t we? Tells me way more about you.”</p><p>“Than…?”</p><p>“Other stuff. You gonna answer the question?”</p><p>“Bruno Mars.” Paige lied with the first name that came to mind. She wasn’t sure she just wanted to casually drop being bi into the conversation.</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Clarke fixed her with a fresh grin. She really had a lot of teeth. “Why him?”</p><p>“Um…” Shit. Paige frantically cast her mind back to high school and the kind of reasoning she and her friends would give for liking boys. “His eyes. And his voice. He has a really nice voice.”</p><p>That pallid pale of eyes across the room seemed to see straight through her. “If you say so. Your turn.”</p><p>“Who’s <em> your </em>crush?” Paige blurted before she could think any better.</p><p>Both of Clarke’s eyebrows rose, and then she started to nod. Paige had the weirdest feeling she’d just won a little respect. “Rhyme can get it.”</p><p>Rhyme—oh, <em> Rime! </em>That was—oh!—she was—Clarke liked girls too. Paige felt her cheeks heating up, and prayed in the name of all that was good that the darkness was enough to hide the blush. “She always struck me as kind of cold.” Clarke stared at her for a moment. Paige realised what she’d just said. “I didn’t mean that.”</p><p>Clarke snickered. “Sure you didn’t. ‘Sides, that’s kinda half the appeal. Badass scary lady. Either she defrosts and is all sweet on the inside or she’s a stone cold motherfucker the whole way down. Shit’s hot.” She winked, and Paige didn’t know how she felt about that. “Your turn again.”</p><p>Talking about a cape reminded Paige of something she’d been stewing on, and she needed to eject from this line of conversation yesterday. “Why didn’t my powers work on you?”</p><p>Clarke chuckled warmly, far from the mocking sound Paige had started associating with her laughter. “Trying to get around the secret, huh?”</p><p>“Wh—No! Definitely not!”</p><p>Clarke cracked up. “Jesus. You are so easy to mess with. Relax.”</p><p>Thinking of mouths gaping from flesh, a suffocating weight upon her back, Paige said nothing.</p><p>“Anywho, most master stuff doesn’t get me like other people. Prolly cause my mind’s in so many different places at once. Even if the main me is feeling funky, I can just get one of my nodes to slap some sense into me. It’s all connected, see?” Clarke tapped her temple. “S’like a psychic web or something.”</p><p>Great. Paige hated it.</p><p>“Got someone waiting for you outside?”</p><p>Paige frowned. “That’s a messed up question.” Cruel, even. Oh, was there a special person out there she had to come to terms with never seeing again? </p><p>“I’m asking if you’ll miss someone.”</p><p>“Still messed up!”</p><p>Clarke looked at her for a second, and then slowly and deliberately shrugged. “Don’t answer if you don’t want—”</p><p>“No. There’s no one.”</p><p>“Sucks.” Clarke grinned lopsidedly. “Or doesn’t. Depends.”</p><p>“What about you?” She was really trying not to rise to the bait. Clarke was making it difficult.</p><p>“Nope,” Clarke answered, too quickly. Her smile vanished.</p><p>Paige leaned forward, intently studying Clarke. Clarke met Paige’s eyes and held them. Her expression was far too bland to be anything but a poker face.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>The word hung in the air between them as seconds ticked by. Clarke continued to stare her down, unnaturally blue eyes fixed on hers. Paige didn’t look away. Power play. If she broke contact, she lost, and she didn’t get an answer. The air began to feel close, suffocating. Clarke didn’t blink. She didn’t seem to breathe.</p><p>Just as the silence grew unbearable, Clarke spoke. “No girlfriend, nah.” </p><p>“What about family, friends?” Paige wasn’t sure why she was pushing this. Maybe she needed the validation that her cellmate hadn’t crawled out of some kind of hideous doom pit.</p><p>“That’s extra questions,” said Clarke, lip peeling back.</p><p>“No, you didn’t answer the original question.”</p><p>Clarke glared. Paige tried not to look up.</p><p>“I’m done,” Clarke announced, smiling brightly, falsely.</p><p>“You can’t just—”</p><p>“Yeah I can. Fuck off.”</p><p>“Fuck you!”</p><p>Clarke’s smile froze. Her eyes gleamed.</p><p>Oh shit.</p><p>A series of wet smacking <em> pops </em>came from somewhere up above, and then a writhing mass of grey swung down, hanging vertically. An enormous eye stared her down. “Your mouth’s gonna get you in trouble, Canary.”</p><p>A laugh shattered clean through the fear. As if her mouth hadn’t done that already. Gallows humour.</p><p>Suddenly, Clarke echoed her. Then again. Then again. Then again. Hideous chuckling emanated from all corners of the room, drowning her in the cacophony. Paige flinched, covering her ears as she doubled over on the bed. Even then, there was no respite from the noise, the laughter that penetrated into her skull from a dozen mouths.</p><p>Then, mercifully, it stopped. Slowly, clutched with anticipation and dread, Paige straightened up.</p><p>Clarke sat in a cradle of flesh, reclining in the node from the ceiling like a loveseat, arms tucked back behind her head. Tendrils wove in and out of her torso, pulsing gently. A mouth crawled across her face, splitting open her nose and cheek.</p><p>“Still owe me a question. Maybe later. Go back to sleep.”</p><p>Those next few hours were some of the slowest in Paige’s life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Diners</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all. Had been planning on updooting more frequently but tbh, quarantine it turns out ruins me creatively, who knew.</p><p>Thanks to Juff and Fwee for having a look at this before I posted!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Piece by piece, the dreary small hours crept past. Each time Paige’s eyes drifted shut, even for an instant, the thought of what might be happening beyond her sight levered them back open again.</p><p>After an interminable length of time, the room was filled with a shrill beeping noise. It repeated a half dozen times, ceased, and then resumed thirty seconds later. Paige remained lying down until she saw Clarke stir on the other side of the room, and then sat up, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. A sickly sensation had settled into her head, a fuzziness around the edges that Paige knew all too well from past all-nighters. She’d last slept on the prison transport, and poorly at that.</p><p>Clarke clambered out of bed. She was wearing a long white undershirt that clung to her body and rode up as she started stretching. Paige averted her eyes, a slight heat coming to her cheeks. A disconcertingly long series of cracks accompanied the stretching, and Clarke started talking. “Breakfast’s in a half hour. Don’t suggest missing it. There’s not much food going outside of mealtimes.”</p><p>“Where does the food come from?”</p><p>“Oh, we get takeout.”</p><p>Paige shot her an unimpressed look. Clarke grinned. Normally, for once.</p><p>“Dragon pipes supplies in. I don’t really know how it works. Tinker tubes. S’how we get, well, everything. Blankets. Clothes. Cigs, lil’ bit of booze. Books and music sometimes.”</p><p>“I see.” Paige hadn’t been putting much thought into the logistics of the Birdcage when the ‘inescapable forever prison’ part was looming so large. “And who decides who gets what?”</p><p>Clarke snapped her fingers, shooting Paige a finger gun and a wink she didn’t trust as far as she could throw. “Smart question. Cell block leaders, mostly. ‘Strum is pretty fair, so shit gets to us evenly.” Her lips tugged into a—Paige didn’t know whether to call it a smile or a grimace. It certainly showed a lot of teeth. “‘Course, nobody says it stays that way.” </p><p>“So people will just take sh—stuff?” A whole block of Clarkesque bullies. Great.</p><p>“Yeah, sometimes. Gotta make sure they know it’s not worth the trouble.”</p><p>Thinking back to her prior attempts to stand up for herself, Paige looked down to her shoes. “I… right.”</p><p>“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Canary. L-word usually steps in before things get too bad.”</p><p>“Didn’t you kill your last cellmate?”</p><p>“I didn’t <em>kill </em>her.” Clarke almost sounded aggrieved.</p><p>Somehow that didn’t make Paige feel the slightest bit better. </p><p>“Anyway. We should get rolling in a sec,” said Clarke, thankfully changing the subject. “Lemme know when you’re ready. I’ll walk you over.”</p><p>Paige wasn’t sure how to define ‘ready’ when she possessed precisely one outfit, which she had both slept in and was already wearing, so after a minute or two, she simply stood up and walked over to the door. Clarke tugged on her towel-hoodie and a pair of shorts that might have been made from a jumpsuit, then strolled across to join her. She didn’t bother with shoes.</p><p>At a gesture from Clarke, Paige opened the door, hesitating for a second as she felt the extra weight resisting the motion. Overcoming her reluctance, she quickly stepped through, immediately turning her body and side-stepping parallel to the wall. Clarke followed, eyeballing her, and then again when she shut the cell door. Paige looked away from all three.</p><p>Clark snorted derisively, but made no comment, sauntering on up the corridor and leaving Paige to trail in her wake. Paige hung back deliberately, only starting off  when she was a half-dozen steps behind. When she turned the first corner, Clarke off ahead of her, she finally felt unwatched for the first time since she’d walked into the cell. Was Clarke really the best that she could get? She’d barely stopped short of physically assaulting Paige and it had been a single night. If the inmates of the Birdcage were all constantly on the verge of killing one another, surely the whole thing would fall apart; surely it wasn’t possible to justify flinging people, even dangerous people into a murder pit. Dragon wouldn’t intervene, but even a maximum security prison had to have a certain level of protection of basic rights.</p><p>She really wanted to believe that, but where had those rights been when a kangaroo court had sentenced her to life?</p><p>Maybe Paige would get another opportunity to speak to Lustrum soon, ask for advice or see if she could get moved around. She’d been mad at Dragon before but there was no reason for the warden to lie to her. She didn’t think. Her brain was getting pretty sluggish right around now. Coffee might help, if they even had it. Or perhaps if Clarke went walkabout during the day, Paige could go back to the cell and sleep. Though, Clarke would still be there in a sense—</p><p>“Canary! Hurry it up! Time’s wasting.”</p><p>Heaving a sigh, Paige picked up the pace and fell in line with Clarke, who gave something approaching a smile (albeit stealthily from the darkness). Paige didn’t return it. Clarke didn’t seem to mind. A short distance later, the corridor opened up into a much larger room that Paige vaguely remembered crossing last night. A few areas for various purposes had been set up in different corners of the room—Paige saw exercise equipment, a couple of TVs and sofas, even a bookshelf—but a majority of the space was taken up by two ranks of trestle tables in the centre, around which several inmates were already crowding. As Paige looked on, a number of women drew up to the tables, each carrying a tray with food. She backtraced their steps and saw that there was indeed some kind of pipe system occupying the majority of the wall, in front of which was set up a sizable serving station. She could smell cooking from somewhere, but it didn’t seem to be within the room, so perhaps they had a kitchen nearby. Paige had flashbacks to high school.</p><p>“We call that bit in the middle the cafeteria. It’s, y’know, not one, but we eat there.”</p><p>Paige looked at the various criminals arrayed around the tables and then glanced to Clarke. “Anyone I should avoid?”</p><p>“Yeah. Don’t sit on either of the left two tables. One’s taken and there’s a group of assholes tends to grab the other. They don’t like me. Might go after you cause we’re rooming.”</p><p>Paige shuffled her feet uneasily. “Go after as in attack me? Because they don’t like <em>you?</em>” She heard the emphasis and accusation in her own tone, but she had a right to feel aggrieved. So she had to deal with Clarke’s bullshit <em>and </em>Clarke’s enemies?</p><p>“They might. Did say they’re assholes. Look, if it comes to that, I’ve got your back. My mess, not yours.”</p><p>“Thanks, I guess.”</p><p>Clarke half-shrugged and then set off for one of the rightmost tables. Paige followed, but after just a few steps, Clarke stopped and turned back. “Y’know, you don’t gotta tail me like this.”</p><p>“I don’t know anyone,” said Paige, like she wasn’t weighing fear of the unknown against Clarke’s verified assholery.</p><p>The wry smile that twitched Clarke’s lips lacked her usual smug aftertaste. “You’ve got the chance to meet them. Don’t need my permission. I’m not your boss or whatever. Go make friends.”</p><p>Well, at least she wasn’t controlling? There were still a couple dozen items in the ‘bad’ column, but Paige could chalk up one positive. One very, very slender positive. “I… think I’ll stick with you for now. Maybe you can introduce me to people?”</p><p>Clarke’s eyebrows rose. She took a moment to reply. “Yeah, sure. Not exactly Miss Popular over here though.”</p><p>Paige started to say something along the lines of being completely unsurprised, but self-preservation kicked in with a vengeance, and she stumbled back into silence. With the grin Clarke flashed her in reply, however, Paige had the sinking feeling that Clarke knew exactly why she’d cut herself off.</p><p>Several pairs of eyes looked Paige’s way as they crossed the room, and she forced herself to stand up straight, to avoid shrinking back. She’d managed to fend off stage fright, and this was—alright she couldn’t realistically say that this wasn’t any different, but the principle was similar. A big part of performing in front of a crowd was not showing the nerves, and while her powers had helped with that, they hadn’t done anything for those first seconds before she began to sing.</p><p>Of course, when she’d been walking to the microphone stand, it wasn’t in front of a roomful of potentially murderous inmates. Was a hell of a thing, trying to simultaneously hold her head high and avoid any and all eye contact.</p><p>A metre or two back from the table, Clarke shrugged off her hoodie and hurled it across the back of one of the two women seated there. She straightened up and let the article slide off.</p><p>“One day, I hold out hope that you will learn to greet me like a normal person.”</p><p>“Where’s the fun in that?”</p><p>The woman turned around, grumbling under her breath. She was black, and her hair was extensively braided, spilling down to her shoulders. That had to take a lot of maintenance. ...Did they even get haircare products in here? Her eyes immediately fell onto Paige.</p><p>“Newbie, huh?”</p><p>“Yup,” said Clarke. “Canary. Cheyenne. Blah blah.”</p><p>“The singer?”</p><p>Paige nodded.</p><p>Cheyenne whistled. “Celebrity in the cage. Don’t see that every day.”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it.” Being a celebrity hadn’t mattered as her death sentence was written. Maybe even made it worse. The case was publicised. The assholes needed to make an <em>example</em>, thanks to the fearmongering.</p><p>“Aight.” Cheyenne shifted. “Hey, Clarke, your lil’ skinbag is still up.”</p><p>“I know it’s still up.” Clarke sounded exasperated but amused. “It’s part of me.”</p><p>“Just tryna’ be nice.”</p><p>Clarke must have noticed Paige’s confusion, because she caught her eye and then pointed up with a finger. Paige followed, looking across the gunmetal ceiling some distance above, and then zeroing in on a dark patch perhaps a metre across. It winked back at her.</p><p>“Gah,” she said eloquently.</p><p>“Told ya I had others,” said Clarke. Her smile faded into a scowl. “Folks like to play target gallery with that one. I have to replace it a bunch.” Paige squinted and realised that the discoloured areas around the node were scorch marks.</p><p>“There ain’t nothing to do an’ it don’t fight back.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Chey.”</p><p>“Fuck you too. Save your seat?”</p><p>“Please.” Clarke beckoned for Paige and then headed for the servery, which had got a little busier since they both walked in.</p><p>Paige tried to keep up this time. “So people just take potshots at your node?”</p><p>“Yup. It’s fucking annoying but what can you do?”</p><p>Thinking back to last night and the sheer glee Clarke had taken in terrifying her, Paige felt that she had an idea or two. Maybe that wouldn’t fly among all the other Birdcaged criminals. Maybe they weren’t as easy to push around.</p><p>They collected plates and trays and now Paige really <em>was </em>getting high school vibes. A woman wearing an extra strip of cloth purporting to be an apron over her jumpsuit dished up food; scrambled eggs which smelled surprisingly okay, weirdly uniform strips of what might have been bacon, sausage, baked beans, toast. A full freaking English. That was pretty much the last thing that Paige had expected would be on the menu. Her stomach gurgled noisily as they navigated their way to the end of the servery to collect some water. Paige couldn’t take her eyes off her plate. The toast was browned just right, the beans had a hint of stodginess, okay the sausages were kind of weirdly fat and round but they looked plump and the scent—damn, when was the last time she’d actually smelled sizzled meat?</p><p>She reluctantly tore her eyes away from breakfast as they made their way back to the table, catching Clarke looking at her in the process. She wore a tiny smile, lips just barely turned upward.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Clarke looked away, but Paige saw the smile grow the faintest degree. “Nothing. It’ll do you good to eat something. You’ll feel better.”</p><p>Paige frowned. “Right.” She felt she’d just missed something.</p><p>Soon enough they were back at the table. Cheyenne scooted along to make room for Paige, and Clarke took a seat opposite. By now plenty of jumpsuited women had filtered into the cafeteria, the low thrum of conversation filling the space steadily. There were at least a couple dozen by Paige’s count, though she was trying not to rubberneck and give anyone an excuse to come over her way. Lustrum herself had arrived at some stage and was now sitting at the adjacent table, flanked by the two scary-looking figures Paige had seen in her cell. They felt a little less intimidating now.</p><p>But enough gawking. She had a date with breakfast. Plastic cutlery in hand, Paige sliced off a chunk of bacon, popped it in her mouth and—her eyes closed for a second. Was it the best bacon she’d ever tasted? No. Did that stop it from being the best bacon she’d ever had? Also no. The texture was odd, a bit too smooth, but it held a smokiness, it <em>crunched </em>just a little. After her arrest, the trial, the hell of the transport, her new cellmate, there was finally the tiniest little sunbeam of something nice.</p><p>Fuck. Paige never thought weird prison bacon would be capable of bringing her to tears.</p><p>She took it slow, savouring the flavour of each mouthful. By contrast, Clarke practically inhaled her food, mowing through what was on her plate as if it was her final meal. Paige tried not to look too closely, having a bad feeling that she wouldn’t like what she saw if she did. The human jaw wasn’t supposed to open that wide. She was already up and walking back to the serving area by the time Paige was a couple of bites in.</p><p>After watching her receding back for a couple of seconds, Paige looked to Cheyenne, who was being much calmer about eating. “Are seconds a thing in here?”</p><p>“Sorta. Gotta be quick an’ you only get a little, ‘less you’re Clarke.”</p><p>“Is food limited?”</p><p>“There’s enough to go round, but Lustrum is a bit more generous with Clarke.”</p><p>“Why’s that?”</p><p>“Needs it. An' Lustrum figured out quick that hungry Clarke is bad news.”</p><p>Paige shot a quick glance over to the servery. Clarke was still waiting in line. “Bad news how?” Cheyenne hesitated, and Paige pushed on. “Look, I’m rooming up with her. Shouldn’t I get to know?”</p><p>“She’s got power issues. You’ve seen her skinbags.”</p><p>“She calls them nodes, but yeah.”</p><p>“Whichever. They don’t just come out of nowhere, right? She makes them. She kinda <em>needs </em>to make them. Again, power thing. If she’s had enough to eat it’s all good. If she ain’t had enough, she can’t. An’ if she can’t, that’s when the trouble starts.”</p><p>“Bad news, trouble. Can you just <em>please </em>give it to me straight? Is she some kind of cannibal, is that it?”</p><p>“Naw, naw.” Cheyenne paused. “Well. There was that time when her roomie tried opening her up but—generally speaking, naw.” </p><p>That was not as reassuring as Cheyenne seemed to think it was. You couldn’t be just a bit of a cannibal. “So if it’s not <em>usually </em>eating people, what’s the problem?” Paige held off on adding ‘because if it’s to stop her being an asshole, I’ve got some news for you.’ Cheyenne could just as easily pass it on to Clarke that Paige had been badmouthing her behind her back, so best to play it safe.</p><p>Cheyenne bit her cheek, then sighed. “She gets crazy. I’m talking real, real crazy. Dangerous crazy. I’d guess it’s the power tryna’ grab the wheel and her fighting back. It’s ugly shit. Last time it went down, someone squared up to her and she damn near ripped her face off—”</p><p>“‘Sup? Miss me?” Clarke set herself back down in her seat, tray in hand and plate replenished. Cheyenne jumped like she’d been stung.</p><p>“Ah yeah naw. We just talkin’.”</p><p>Clarke smiled, the corner of her mouth splitting open to her cheek. “I bet.”</p><p>Cheyenne changed the subject, and the conversation drifted away as Clarke asked about a book Cheyenne was reading, leading into questions about what Paige liked to read, and from there what shows they’d watched on TV recently. It would have felt normal, were it not for the crowd of jumpsuits, the walls pressing in around them, those glances coming in from other tables. Paige tried not to look back at anyone. Hopefully the gawkers would get bored. Damn feathers drawing everyone’s attention.</p><p>She hadn’t minded them before her concerns about being compared to the Simurgh had become reality.</p><p>Later, as Paige closed in on finishing her meal, she glanced up from the plate to see that somebody had drawn up behind Clarke. Paige’s stomach immediately rolled over, her breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. The new arrival, slim almost to the point of emaciation, was covered in strange sheets of irregularly textured growths, as if layer upon layer of <em>something </em>had been pasted onto her flesh, turning her skin into a mottled patchwork. Her hair was long, blonde, and stringy, and the half of her face that wasn’t scaled over was pale and waxen.</p><p>“Cla—”</p><p>“What do you want, Reskin?”</p><p>Reskin scowled. Clarke grinned slyly and winked at Paige. Paige’s eyes flicked up to the node on the ceiling. Its vision was that good?</p><p>“Not about me, it’s about CG. She wants you.”</p><p>Clarke snorted. “She can come get me herself.”</p><p>“She’s not asking.”</p><p>Clarke finally turned, twisting around and eyeing Reskin up. “And?”</p><p>“And if you don’t want trouble, you’ll come.”</p><p>“And I’m eating, so you can get the fuck out of my face.”</p><p>Reskin flipped Clarke’s tray over, splattering food across the table. “Guess you’re done.”</p><p>Clarke tipped her head all the way back until she was staring at the ceiling. She blew air from her nose. “Giving you ‘till three.”</p><p>“Three.” Reskin punched Clarke in the throat. Skin parted, ripping open into a teeth-studded black abyss, which clamped down with a sickening crunch. Reskin shrieked. Paige recoiled.</p><p>Clarke’s head remained at that same tilted angle, even as Reskin yanked back on her trapped fist, attempting to prise it loose with all her might. Clarke grinned, then grinned, then grinned, mouths opening up down her left arm, across her cheek. “<em><strong>You’re really not all that smart, are you?</strong></em>”</p><p>Reskin screamed again, a guttural sound rising from the bottom to the top of her lungs as she pulled away yet harder. A wet tearing noise was followed by the sickening <em>pop </em>of her hand finally coming free, and she staggered back, clutching it to her, streaked with blood.</p><p>“You motherfucker!”</p><p>Clarke rose, guttural laughter emanating from everywhere at once. <em><strong>“Why don’t you go crawling back to your little gang?” </strong></em></p><p>Reskin stumbled upright, made an obscene gesture, and then scurried away.</p><p>Those footsteps and the damp <em>schlurp</em> as Clarke’s head and neck reoriented themselves were the sole sounds in the space. Every last set of eyes in the room was fixed on her.</p><p>She sat down, righting her tray. Conversation slowly began to bubble back up. Deep red rivulets trickled down Clarke’s throat. She reached out to a half-eaten sausage scattered on the table, and with a fleshy chomp, it was gone.</p><p>Paige swallowed and looked down to her plate.</p><p>She wasn’t so hungry anymore.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Roommates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to Juff for betaing this.</p><p> </p><p>CW: Mind control discussion. Mild body horror. References to cannibalism.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first few days in the Birdcage passed, if not smoothly, then at least without any further fistfights or shouting matches. A few voices had been raised here and there, but nobody had come to blows since Reskin’s ill-advised attack on Clarke. For her part, Clarke hadn’t been interested in discussing what Reskin’s issue was, and Cheyenne had clammed up on the subject, just telling Paige that it wasn’t for her to talk about. Outside of that, at least, Cheyenne was relatively easy going, much better conversation than Clarke. She even nudged Paige here and there on some of the unspoken rules of the place, keeping her out of trouble. Paige had held off from asking exactly what had landed her in jail. Ignorance was bliss, when the bullshit was stacked so high that a little more on top of the pile could bury you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lustrum ran the cell block in the kind of relaxed manner that only came from a hell of a lot of respect. If she said stop, her inmates </span>
  <em>
    <span>stopped</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  How exactly she commanded that respect, Paige didn’t know and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She came off like someone’s mom, albeit maybe the mom whose house you didn’t get to go around anymore after you let slip that she’d been showing everyone how to break a creepy guy’s toes. Maybe Lustrum was reaping the rewards of a hardline approach earlier in her block leader career. Paige sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More people than Paige would have liked had recognised her. She was surrounded by hardened criminals; being interesting was dangerous. Nothing good could come from attracting attention in here. For so much of her life she’d gone to some serious lengths to try making it as an artist, and now she wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and anonymity. Her musical career couldn’t protect her here, and her voice—Paige was afraid to risk making a sound that even resembled singing, in case it was seen as a threat. She felt less than safe venturing outside of her cell on her own, and half the time she asked Clarke to accompany her, Clarke answered with a shit-eating grin and a reassurance that she’d ‘keep an eye on’ Paige. In general, Clarke seemed faintly amused at the extent to which Paige stuck to her when they left the cell, though she’d also repeated her earlier assertion that Paige shouldn’t feel she couldn’t do her own thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for the rooming arrangements…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking BITCH!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s yell from across the room jolted Paige enough she sent her book into a somersault. Her head snapped around. Clarke sat at her desk, fingers gripping it hard enough to make a creaking noise, face contorted into a snarl, eyes swimming black. In the recesses of the room, the nodes emanated a deep, thrumming growl. Paige swallowed, nervously glancing up to ensure nothing was directly overhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, uh, you alright, Clarke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark snapped around so forcefully the desk scraped along the floor. “Do I fucking sound alright!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, well… I guess not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking Control Group got my ceiling node. A-fucking-gain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was Reskin’s CG, Paige figured. “Can’t you just make another one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke snarled again. Her jaw yawned open almost to her collar before curling back up for a humourless laugh. “Yeah, cause I just love making them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige hesitated. Though she’d yet to see Clarke, uh, ‘produce’ a node, she’d been under the impression that Clarke thought they were fun, given the perverse glee she’d taken in scaring the ever-loving hell out of Paige by revealing them. “You don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I don’t!” Clarke barked, rising jerkily from her seat. None of her limbs were the same length.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrinking back against the wall, Paige wondered whether she could reach the door ahead of Clarke. “Okay! Sorry! It’s just—how am I supposed to know that? You don’t tell me anything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke formed a yell, and then visibly deflated. “I guess not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige instinctively checked above and around her again. Pushing back hadn’t yet proven to end well, and after their first couple of bust ups, Paige was primed for defiance to be met with retaliation. Instead, Clarke hovered there for a moment, and then slumped back down, skidding the chair backward a few inches. She rubbed her face with one hand, and Paige noticed for the first time that her fingers were a much darker hue than the rest of her skin, though not quite the inky black of her innards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dropping her hand and staring into space, Clarke spoke. “The nodes’re… They’re…” Her mouth twitched into an ugly scowl. “Fuck. Forget it. Not like you care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping quiet, Paige watched her for a moment, trying to piece together whether that was true. Clarke hadn’t gotten on her case about sleep-singing again, but Paige had also been going out of her way to avoid confrontation, playing full diplomat—or doormat—and keeping her head down. She hadn’t forgotten how Clarke had marked her turf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other hand, this was the first time Clarke had shown a hint of opening up—uh, emotionally—since Paige was thrown in here. Who knew when the next chance to speak candidly would come along? Clarke could just shutter her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought about the sentence stretching ahead of her, and what little her future could have on offer. A lifetime of walking on eggshells and getting pushed around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting it that way, Paige didn’t have much to lose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me about it. You know, if you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking out of her sullen haze, Clarke shot her a suspicious glance. “...Alright.” She resumed staring at nothing. A long minute ticked by. Paige shifted uneasily. That wasn’t the response she’d had in mind, but if she prodded, she’d probably end up right back at square one. Though, she’d already put herself out there, so maybe she should just bite the bullet and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My power wants to be big,” said Clarke. “It wants to grow. Wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>to grow. So I node up the place. Thing is, the nodes…” She clenched her jaw and her cheeks </span>
  <em>
    <span>split</span>
  </em>
  <span>, daggerlike rows of teeth peeping out from the rents. “They’re hungry. All the goddamn time. I can keep a handle on it when I’ve got a bunch of them, because it kinda, I guess, scratches the itch to spread myself out, but the less I have, the worse it feels. S’like having six people in my head all complaining at once, ‘cept they can fuckin’... I dunno, beam sensations into my brain too. Wind up feeling hungry enough to puke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige tried very very hard to stay calm. “But you don’t have to feed them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t let them eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what doesn’t help is when fucking CONTROL GROUP decides to try and fuck on me!” Clarke’s mouth yawned open almost to the back of her head, those razor teeth glistening dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige’s first two attempts at speech died off into strangled squeaks. She finally managed to croak out a simple, “Right.” At this stage, there was literally nothing anyone could say to her to convince Paige that Clarke hadn’t eaten other people. Plural. The hunger from the nodes? Just looking at what her power </span>
  <em>
    <span>did? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her imprisonment in the Birdcage wasn’t as much of a red flag as it might have been before Paige got locked away, but not everyone in here was screwed by the courts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke tilted her head Paige’s way, and she failed to stop herself from leaning backwards. Clarke snorted, but when she spoke, she almost managed to sound gentle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Relax. I’m not pissed off at you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relax. She’d relax when anything around her gave her any reason to let her guard down. After another moment, fear finally released its grip on her throat, and though Paige hesitated, she eventually decided to continue. The more she knew about Clarke the better; she couldn’t just stick her head in the sand when it came to the person she was spending the vast majority of her time with. “What’s the issue with Control Group, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“More specifically than being an asshole?”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Paige nodded. Clarke growled, her cheeks pulling themselves back together. “It’s two things. She wanted to experiment on me and the nodes and I told her to fuck off. She doesn’t like being told no, and she and her bitches have been fucking around with me ever since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s pretty extreme,” said Paige, though she doubted Clarke had phrased her refusal even as politely as that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke laughed. “S’Birdcage for ya. She didn’t get in here by taking rejection well. Anyhow, the other thing is that she likes my ex-roommate and I guess feels like she’s being some kind of champion of justice by sticking up for her.” Clarke made a disgusted noise. “Suck-up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige noted the present tense. “I’m guessing that your old roommate isn’t anyone that I’ve met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. I guess we’re talking ‘bout her, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, uh, well—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s whatever. You’d have heard the story sooner or later.” Sighing, Clarke stood up and walked across to her bed. “Need a drink for this one.” She stooped, and then produced a green, unlabelled glass bottle in one hand and a dented beer can in the other. “Want some? Regular booze doesn’t really do it for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige shook her head. Clarke shrugged and set the can down between them, and then took a big swig of her bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. The roomie. She’s a master. A strong one. She gives you a command and you do it. Starts out small and straightforward, but the more times she gets you to obey, the more she sinks her hooks in, the longer she can keep you obedient. By the time they busted her, she had a block of people and half a Protectorate team dancing her tune. To hear her tell it, they only got her by planting somebody master-resistant into her cult and then bringing down three full other teams on her head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” With capes like that around, Paige could almost understand the fears people held towards masters. Then again, those actions showed a clear and concentrated malevolence and a drive to subjugate others. They weren’t a single unthinking remark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke leaned against the wall. “Thing is, that info is second hand and Prof is a lying bitch, so I’m pretty sure she’s bigging up how big a threat she became to stroke her own ego.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prof? As in Professor, or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Prophet of Paradise.” Clarke rolled her eyes. “See what I mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Talk about ostentatious.” That made Paige wonder for a second about Clarke’s lack of a cape name. Even if Clarke wasn’t her real name, it wasn’t the kind of thing someone would pick to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Anywho, Proph is definitely dangerous. Even if she can’t master hundreds of people, she can do a couple for sure. L-word didn’t realise or didn’t care and just tossed her in with me, no safeguards or whatever. Didn’t have as many nodes back then and didn’t know I could use them how I did when you sang at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She mastered you.” Paige’s stomach sank into her shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That hung in the air. Paige couldn’t begin to think of a response. She’d tried to use her power on Clarke too, though that was under duress, so any kind of sympathy would probably get her head bitten off. Metaphorically if she was lucky. The conversation had slid fully into a fresh minefield. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took far too long for Clarke to break the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Went on for a while. Few months, probably. Dunno, it’s hazy. Things blur when you’re doing what she says. S’kinda like… lying in a warm bath. Drifting. S’easy not to think about anything. Relax and let her take the wheel.” She stared at nothing as she spoke. Her expression was tranquil, but across her arms, shoulders, neck, black cracks writhed, mouths and eyes opening and closing, shapes undulating under her skin like sea monsters lurking underneath the surface. “Threaten that. Hit that. Fight that. Just listen. Why worry?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She used me to grab up a nice little Cage corner for herself. I barely knew anything about it. Was just… there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige tried to rally her thoughts. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Not that. None of it excused Clarke’s behaviour, but Paige could understand, at least a little, how months of mental domination could screw somebody up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she isn’t controlling you any more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke blinked like she’d forgotten Paige was there, and then took another slug from her bottle. A long one. “Proph always kept me on a tight leash with the nodes. I guess in the end the hunger broke through the mastering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunger?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige didn’t want to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t going to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chittering mouths flashed in her mind, gnashing their teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ended up chewing through like an entire day’s food supply for the whole block.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whuh—what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Total mess. Cereal everywhere. Meat? Gone. Fruit? Destroyed. Pissed off literally everyone. Pretty sure I was like two seconds from being murdered in a food coma, which would’ve been fucking embarrassing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige laughed, and only realised it a second later. A regular food binge felt so… ordinary in the face of her dread. Even when it had apparently raised the ire of a full block of convicts. “Pretty sure you weren’t though. You don’t look like a ghost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke smiled, more of a twitch of the lips than anything, but not unpleasant. “Yeah, nah. L-word I guess figured out what was going on with Proph when I puked up four nodes straight and suddenly was acting way different from before. Pulled my ass out of the fire. Makes us even, so far as I’m concerned. Her own damn fault in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anywho, the new nodes cleared my head way the fuck up and I was thinking straight again. L-word sent me back to Proph to break up her clique as some kind of repayment bullshit. Blah blah, now everyone hates Clarke because she was an asshole with Proph, then ate all the food, then fucked over the people who tolerated her. Proph spun it like I stabbed her in the back, and Control Group and company bought it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s rough.” A thought occurred to her. “That was when Prophet tried to kill you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhm. When she realised her power wasn’t working anymore, she flipped her shit and slashed my throat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not completely clear how bad an injury that is for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke grinned. “Taking notes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige pulled a face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed softly. “You’re learning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige maintained the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine. Hurts like a bitch. Not lethal. I’m pretty hard to kill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess you can breathe out of all those other mouths.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what happened after that? She’s still alive so did you… what, mess her up and then kick her out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nah.” Clarke grinned wolfishly. “Bit her fucking arm off and ate it in front of her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take my mind, I take your limb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige hugged herself. Just when she finally thought she—just as it was—god she—Clarke actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>eat—her stomach lurched. Her vision tipped sideways. She doubled over and retched up her lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck offffffff,” groaned Clarke, sounding very distant. “Ugh. Stay here. I’ll get a mop.” She strode from the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paige shivered.</span>
</p>
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